f we must."

The din of the massacre in the piazza echoed within the cathedral, which
was now mostly emptied out. Cardinal Piacenza had brought his Mass to a
quick end. He was sitting in a chair near the altar, looking stricken,
and a young priest was mopping the old cardinal's forehead with a white
cloth. On one side of the nave stood the podesta, d'Ucello, surrounded
by a group of his sergentes in yellow and blue.

_There is murder in the piazza, and the keeper of public order hides in
the cathedral_, Daoud thought.

The podesta's eyes met Daoud's as Ugolini's retinue hurried past him
toward the rear doors of the cathedral. There was a menace in d'Ucello's
set face, but he said nothing as Daoud strode by.

The look in d'Ucello's eyes told Daoud that the moment when the podesta
would strike at him was not far away. Daoud felt as if a ghost had
gripped the back of his neck with an icy hand.

Ugolini, muttering to himself, led the way to the north transept. A
half-dozen men in orange and green tunics, swords drawn, barred the
door.

"Stand aside in the name of God!" Ugolini cried as he approached the
Monaldeschi men-at-arms. "Your damned bloody quarrels have nothing to do
with me."

Daoud was surprised. He had often seen Ugolini frightened, but now fear
seemed to have given him sudden strength. The men guarding the door
stepped aside. The cardinal's servants held the door for him, and in a
moment they were in the narrow street running along the north side of
the cathedral, where they joined a crowd of weeping, shouting people who
had managed to break loose from the piazza. There were splashes of
blood, Daoud saw, on the tunics of many men and the dresses of many
women. Ugolini's servants formed a wedge around him, and in stunned
silence they walked back to his mansion.

Daoud felt shaken and sick. His hands were trembling.

The Filippeschi could have been allies for Daoud against the podesta.
Now he was alone.

Ugolini's small contingent of armed retainers could not resist the town
militia. A cold feeling of helplessness settled over Daoud. If only
Lorenzo would come back.

* * * * *

Bars of afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows of Ugolini's
cabinet, giving a fiery tinge to his red rug and glistening in the eyes
of his stuffed owl. Ugolini sat behind his table, holding the painted
skull in both hands and staring intently at it, as if it held the
explanation of what